Create
by Superficial Faith
Summary: When you realize eternal life is a curse, you have no choice but to create your own hell. Sequel to Misconception.


**Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to its respective creator and companies. No copyright infringement is intended.**

Starscream didn't regret anything. This was a hard and true fact. Did he receive repercussions for his treacherous actions? Yes, yes he did, but never had he regretted it. However, feeling the coarse texture of his trinemate's neck cabling underneath his fingers, vibrating slightly as it fought to cycle out the Energon rising up into Thundercracker's vocals—something akin to a wet gurgle emitting from his mouth—he was sorely tempted to regret the whole experience that had happened mere joors ago.

It had started simply with the small taste of Energon from the Autobot, but back aboard the Nemesis, his HUD began to flare warnings at him, his internal fuel tanks pinging him relentlessly. He had felt sick and nauseous, almost like someone had blanked his sensornet, but he refused to see med bay—to report himself currently unfit for duty. He could not, _would not_, submit himself to such ridicule from his peers—those who were subordinate to him—his pride was just too great. Besides, that was what self-repair was for. He would mend, it was that simple.

However, fate was a cruel companion and he suddenly found himself doubled over the edge of his berth, violently offloading what little he had in his tanks. It was not the sudden purging that had scared him, not even when he continued to gag and retch—dry heaves—there was nothing left inside. Pain he could handle. It was something he used to—something he was trained to withstand—pushing past his mortality and manually overriding whatever warnings his internals threw at him. No, it was the thought—the sheer _terror_ that welled up inside him—that he could no longer take in Energon. For those who had experienced this particular torture described it as trying to override your programming directive—it just couldn't be done. And yet here he was—to be forever aching of thirst. And that was how his trinemates had found him. Shivering in a pool of his own rejected sustenance, reciting commands incoherently in a feverish attempt to reset his internals to their original state, to no avail.

Starscream wasn't sure who made the snide remark first, but something in him snapped. Broken body and frayed mind, he had moved faster than he thought possible, pushing himself up and grabbing onto Skywarp's wings, swinging him around and head first into his work station. Again, he overrode warning after warning flashing across his HUD. Rational judgment was now forever lost and he could only _feel_. He didn't know how it happened, or what he did, but Skywarp was on floor, his neck cabling completely sawn through, offlined in a steadily growing puddle of his own Energon. Through his convoluted thought pattern, he had been dimly aware that Skywarp probably wouldn't get up again. He had felt no remorse. He was nothing more than a living mechanism for destruction, now.

Bright purple stains dotted his normally pristine wings—a grotesque painting made with his own purge and discarded Energon—as he had practically stalked Thundecracker, who was trying to back away from heavy stench of death pervading the air. Starscream hadn't blamed him. Never had he seen his air commander in such a state.

The jet had tried to stop himself—to halt his actions—knowing he was past the verge of a total and complete meltdown, but the raw emotion of anger and rage was something that was _real_—something his life wasn't—and he latched onto it, not wanting to let go. If he was going to make himself his own living hell, he had thought, he was going all the way. There was no turning back—not when Megatron found out.

His had hands shot out and clasped the sides of the other mech's helm, almost stroking it gently before sliding his down and crushing the neck cabling there, his other hand yanking Thundercracker's head back, causing the pinched flow of Energon to reverse. And that was how he had found himself in this predicament.

"Did Primus gift _you_ with an eternal spark?" the jet hissed. "Well, did he?" His tone was biting—bitter that he had been chosen for this _privilege._

Thundercracker responded with involuntary gag, Energon running down in small rivulets from his mouth and optics. It was a painful process, Starscream knew. He had seen his subordinates perform the tactic as a torture method. With the main Energon lines cut off from normal flow within the neck cabling and no way to reroute flow away from the tilted head, it created excess buildup and pressure. It was a last-ditch effort at survival for their kind, and the Energon wove its way through emergency fuel lines in the helm, disposing of the majority through the optic sensors, mouth, and occasionally the nose—excruciatingly painful, and the thought of knowing there was nothing you could do was absolutely _petrifying_.

So the air commander was reasonably impressed when the blue jet managed to choke out, "You're _insane_, Starscream…You need help."

"I don't need _anyone's_ help!" he shrieked, flinging Thundercracker aside.

The sheer _terror_ in the other's eyes ground his malfunctioning processor to a halt, and it fought to reset itself—to correct whatever glitch had been uncovered—and for the first time in his position as a warrior he let it.

"We need to get you help," Thundercracker repeated softly, hesitantly.

"_Go!_" Starscream growled lowly. "Do not come back here again. _Go now!_"

He wasn't sure when the other jet had left, but he found himself alone with the empty shell of Skywarp. How could he? How could he destroy something so easily, something that was created along with him? There was no other explanation. He was a _monster_—no longer the proud soldier that he once was and that everyone quietly envied.

_Look_, he thought. _Look at what the pride of the Cybertronian War Academy has been reduced to._

There was nothing left of him, nothing left that he could do to fix himself—nothing left but to scream.

He did.

**Author's Note: Gift fic for kaz26 on LJ (I'm holding open requests now for the holidays, so ask away!). Constructive criticism is very much encouraged and appreciated.**


End file.
